Singapore Sling Shot

by Andrew Grant

  I bent my knees slightly and merged with the standing crowd. Again, I could just see Miss Blue’s head. If she got off at the Dhoby Ghaut interchange, where to next? Would she take the green line and head east or west? Or take the purple line. The choices were all there. Of course, she might just stay on the train.

  When we reached Dhoby Ghaut, she stood and got off the train. I followed. There was little chance of getting in front of her, and she had so many options of where to go that it was impossible for me to outguess her. The only alternative was to stay on her tail and hope that she didn’t realise she was being followed. Judging by her lack of expertise to date, I didn’t think that was likely. I hoped I was right.

  Purple line! She was either going to Harbourfront or Punggol or anywhere in between. I followed and yes, she was heading west. Now that she had lost her subject, Miss Blue was no longer scanning the crowd. The fact that I might have turned the tables on her had obviously not entered her mind. Amateur!

  Again I hugged a pillar and pantomimed with my cellphone as we waited for the next unit, all the time keeping watch on my former spook out of the corner of my eye. I avoided staring directly at her. Even if she weren’t practised at shadowing, I didn’t want to risk her picking up eye-burn as I had. Given that she was quite an attractive woman, I imagined she was used to receiving a fair bit of attention from appreciative males, and another passing glance wouldn’t alert her.

  The train pulled in and I did as I had done before. There were fewer people getting on, so I stayed at a discreet distance and slumped into a seat, pretending to text on my mobile. From where I was sitting I could see Miss Blue’s crossed legs in a seat not too far from me. She had nice legs, but her shoes, with semi-high heels, were not exactly ideal for a shadow. That added to my conclusion that she wasn’t a complete professional. A real pro would have had on walking shoes of some sort.

  At Outram Park, Miss Blue stood and made her way out onto the platform. I did likewise, but hung back. My former watcher was making a call on her mobile. This call wasn’t as difficult as the first, it appeared. She actually laughed before slipping the phone back into her bag. I followed, just close enough to see which one of the dozens of alternative exits she used. She chose the Cantonment exit. I’d been here before. This was the exit that came up directly under the police complex. Shit! Was she a cop after all? I quickly slipped my cap back on to cover the scars and let the cap’s oversize brim and my dark glasses cover as much of my face as possible. I knew there was CCTV aplenty in the MRT station, but assumed there would be even more cameras near the police precinct.

  I stayed on Miss Blue’s tail. If she were a cop, I would be leaving Singapore just as soon as it could be arranged. I had no illusions that if the authorities were interested in me, I would be in great danger, and life in Changi Prison was not something I was eager to experience.

  We emerged on the ground-level concourse in the police building, but rather than turning to the right and entering the precinct itself, Miss Blue carried on, exited the foyer and walked on up the side of the building. There was a gap in the hedge at the top. She stepped through and waited to cross the road in front of her. I hung back in the shadows under the building’s overhang. I found a cigarette and made a play of lighting it. Hell, this was my first of the day. I had so far almost stuck to my limit of five a day. My lungs were beginning to thank me for my restraint.

  Miss Blue crossed the road and headed to a large housing estate directly in front of her. I let her get into the grounds before I tossed my cigarette away and judged my run to make it across the road without being flattened.

  Miss Blue had gone beyond the first line of buildings and was moving deeper into the cluster of apartment blocks. I stayed on her tail. She paused at one stage to talk to an elderly woman. I lit another cigarette for cover and sat at one of the seats dotted around the open park space.

  Eventually the pair separated and Miss Blue moved on. She turned into the entrance of one of the towers. I slowed. This was going to be the tricky bit. Then I noticed the post boxes. I tried to make myself invisible by pressing my body into the wall outside the open entrance. I watched. Who doesn’t check for mail mid-morning? Miss Blue kept my faith in humanity. She produced a key from her shoulder bag and opened a box. I was too far away to read the numbers, but I counted. Three down, four from the end.

  My quarry closed and relocked the box, then moved towards the bank of two elevators, sorting her mail as she went. A lift arrived and three people exited. Miss Blue stepped in and was gone. I waited for the foyer to clear and went to the bank of post boxes. Three down and four across was box number 09-04. A sticker on the letterbox read:“Lucy Pang Hooi Ming—NO junk mail, thank you”.

  I went to the elevators. The television monitor mounted on the wall above each of the lifts showed its interior. Miss Lucy Pang, if that was her name, was standing, head down, reading a postcard. She was nodding her head. I guessed she was laughing. When the elevator stopped, she got out without looking up at the camera. Like people who were around them a lot, she had probably forgotten it was there.

  I glanced at the floor counter mounted above the door. Level nine.

  Shrugging on my jacket, I got in the next lift to arrive. Like Miss Blue, I avoided looking up at the monitor just in case it was being taped. I pushed the button for her floor. I had no idea just what I was going to do when I got to unit 09-04. What if Miss Blue was not alone in the apartment? That was something I’d just have to take a chance on.

  I arrived at level nine. The open landing had four doors off it. Two of them were closed behind their wrought-iron security screens. One door was open, with just the security screen closed and padlocked, letting the humid air circulate while keeping out any stray burglars. The security screen to Miss Blue’s apartment had been left half-open; however, the door behind it was closed. Was it locked? Was Miss Blue expecting someone to call? Was there anyone else in the apartment? Her aged father, perhaps? Or a rambunctious young brother, boyfriend or husband who would want to deal with any intruder?

  I never go anywhere without gloves of some sort in my pocket. The ones in my inside jacket pocket were latex, a thicker version of the standard surgical model. I pulled them on and shut down my imagination. The door was unlocked! I didn’t need to try and pick the lock mechanism.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  46

  Sami Somsak, still in the guise of the little old Chinaman, was pleased, very pleased. Everything was neatly falling into place. The old man was sitting on the edge of a concrete planter taking his leisure as he had done for several days. As always, his small battered suitcase sat at his feet. Across from where he was sitting, construction on the new apartment building was going well, but his eyes weren’t on the construction site. He was watching the front of the towering building two down on the same side, waiting for a sighting of the man he would soon kill.

  Almost on cue, the gold Bentley swept out of the underground car park and onto Nassim Road. Lu was out of his fortress and on one of his rare expeditions since the cemetery bombing. Following the luxury sedan came a black Range Rover, no doubt filled with Lu’s bodyguards.

  “When the time comes, they will do you no good whatsoever,” the old man chuckled to himself. “No good whatsoever.”

  I was in a small foyer. To my right was an open-plan living room and I could see two doors opening off it. To my left were three doors. Somewhere to my right a door slammed. Back on my left what I took to be washing machine whirred. I stood motionless, trying to interpret the sounds. I moved into the entrance to the living room. There was a kitchen on the left with a servery and breakfast bar opening into the living room. There was music playing softly, the sound emanating from the speakers of a home theatre set-up. A large television screen dominated one wall of the room. A toilet flushed. There was a bathroom, beyond the kitchen but it was out of my line of vision.

  I heard the sounds of a shower being t
urned on. Miss Blue, it appeared, was about to wash away the results of her exertions. I drifted back to the main door and closed it. I slid the intruder chain across and pressed the locking knob on the door handle to set it. While Miss Blue was occupied in the shower, I quickly went from room to room checking for any other occupants. There were four bedrooms, all of them empty.

  Miss Blue’s bedroom was the largest. It had two doors, one to the living area, and one that either opened into an en suite or at the least allowed her access to the bathroom area.

  I knew it was her room because her blue suit was spread across the bed. Shoes were lying on the floor along with a bra and panties. It appeared Miss Blue hadn’t wasted any time at all getting into the shower. From the amount of splashing, she was having quite a time of it in there.

  The bedroom had its own television. There was a sound system. Nice prints and maybe a couple of original paintings were on the wall. The curtains were open and the light flooded in. I went and drew the curtains. Whatever happened, I didn’t want some voyeur with a camera or a telescope watching. I wanted a restraint for our Miss Blue when she emerged from her ablutions. Dressing gown cords are good, as are belts.

  There was no belt on her skirt and no dressing gown in sight. I crossed to the large built-in wardrobe and pulled the double-doors open.

  “Shit!”

  There were at least five police uniforms sitting neatly on hangers along with neatly racked shirts. There were several pairs of highly polished practical shoes stacked neatly in the bottom of the wardrobe. Three uniform caps sat on a high shelf. Miss Blue was not only neat, she was a fucking cop! The shower had been turned off. She was about to walk back into the bedroom.

  I had no choice but to play this thing out to whatever end we came to. I cursed at my dumb luck, and grabbed a scarf from a rack of several hanging on one leaf of the wardrobe door. I quickly crossed the bedroom to stand with my back pressing against the wall beside the en suite door. The door opened and Miss Blue came into the room. She was naked, which of course was to be expected. She was drying her hair with a towel which obscured her face as she moved. She stopped momentarily and realised that the curtains had been drawn. She lowered the towel and started to turn.

  I came off the wall and went for her. It wasn’t pretty, but it was quick. I grabbed a handful of hair and drove Miss Blue forward towards her bed, clipping her feet out from under her as I did so. She fell full length onto the bed. I straddled her, letting my ninety-five kilos drive her into the bedding as I held her face into the bedcovers. I didn’t want a shout or a scream.

  She was trying to fight. Her legs were scissoring wildly. Her heels were hitting me on the back but with no real force. She was trying to reach back and fight me with her hands. There were fingernails. I slapped her hands away with my free hand. She wasn’t giving up easily. Miss Blue planted her hands flat on the bed and tried to force herself upwards. I just leaned on her, using my weight to keep her face buried in the soft counterpane.

  The suddenness of the attack and the fact she couldn’t get breath into her lungs was now starting to take the fight out of my cop. Now she was panicking, simply trying to get some air into her oxygen-starved body.

  “Listen,” I said softly. “I just want to talk. I’ll let you breathe but you scream or you fight and you die. That’s a promise, got it?” There was an explosion of sound from deep in the bed and her legs stopped thrashing around. I lifted her head and she gulped in air. I released her hair. “Hands behind your back.”

  She started to object, so I grabbed hair and pushed her face back into the bedding. Her hands came back instantly. I let go of the hair once more and used the scarf to tie her wrists together. Only then did I get off her and stand at the foot of the bed. I rolled Miss Blue onto her back, touching my finger to my lips as I did so. Her eyes were huge. Her mouth was opening and closing silently like a guppy in a fish tank.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and removed my fighting knife from my boot. I held it casually in my hand with the blade just touching her thigh. Her eyes widened even further and she tried to squirm away. I grabbed her shoulder with my free hand and anchored her where she was.

  I don’t even think at that moment she was aware of her nakedness; the sight of the blade and perhaps the guy holding it had her full attention. The big dark eyes switched between my face and the razor-sharp blade of the knife. I pulled my Ray Bans off and slipped them into the pocket of my jacket. Some people say I have very cold eyes, at least when I want to use them that way. I did now.

  “Here’s the thing,” I said softly. “You were tailing me. As you have discovered, two can play at that game. I know you’re a cop, but are you working for the police on this or Thomas Lu?”

  If Miss Blue’s eyes were wide before, now they were positively huge. Her lips had stopped moving and just for one magic moment, I could read her thoughts. She was going to say that this was a police gig. No one in their right mind was going to mess with the boys and girls in Singapore blue. That was her theory and she was wrong.

  I reached out and grabbed her pert right nipple with my left hand and laid the blade of the knife on the swell of her breast beside it.

  “Before you say a word, consider this,” I paused and touched the edge of the blade to the edge of her nipple. Yes, it was cruel and sexist and all that shit, but I needed the correct answer and fast. Would I have cut her? I don’t think so, but there must always be a first, I guess. “I will know if you lie and if you do, you will lose a nipple. If you lie again you will lose your life.”

  It was then I knew for a fact that she wasn’t going to lie as the acrid smell of urine filled the bedroom.

  “Thomas Lu,” she blurted. “I did this for Mr Lu.”

  “He pays you to work for him?”

  “Yes, little things. Sometimes…like today he has me follow people.”

  “He obviously gave you a good description to work with.”

  “Yes!”

  I had to figure that Kaylin had described me to Lu in some detail and he had given Miss Blue that description.

  “You told him you lost me?”

  “Yes. He was very angry.”

  “Your police bosses would be very interested to know of your relationship with Mr Lu,” I suggested. I released her nipple and removed the knife from her breast, slipping it back into the sheath built into my boot. I made a show of pulling down the cuff of my jeans. The pantomime was simply to reinforce the fact that we were done. I now had the power. I didn’t need a weapon. I literally and figuratively had her career and maybe her life in my hands at this instant in time.

  “Please.” Miss Blue’s huge eyes blinked in terror. “That would mean prison. Being a policewoman in prison would be my death.”

  “Perhaps we can come to an understanding,” I said as I stood and looked down at her. Bondage has never been my thing. I rolled Miss Blue onto her side and undid the knot in the scarf. It was too pretty to be cut. That done, I handed her the towel. “Dry yourself off, find some clothes and we’ll put you back in Mr Lu’s good books and get me out of his sights.”

  Thomas Lu flipped shut his cellphone and settled back into the Bentley’s luxurious leather seats. Things were getting better. First the girl had lost the man David Crewe. Then she had found him again. He had been coming out of the Singapore Airlines office on Orchard. Going inside, she had used her warrant card as leverage. Lucy Pang had discovered that David Crewe was booked on a late afternoon flight to Sydney the following day.

  “Mr Crewe,” Thomas Lu murmured, “I think you have just saved your own life.” With the man booked to leave Singapore, he, Thomas Lu, had no more to fear from Sami Somsak’s assassin. Now he could concentrate on getting a share of the Intella Island project for himself, and he had plans for that. There was nothing like the threat of scandal to bring reluctant colleagues on side, and he had the means of creating considerable scandal. Thomas Lu flipped open his cellphone again and selected a number from his address book. The pho
ne range twice before it was answered.

  “Mr Lu!’

  “Yes, Kaylin. I’m sorry, my dear, I was a little hasty during our last conversation. How would you like to come and work for me, in my home? I have a feeling that there is much we could do for each other.”

  “Yes, Mr Lu, yes!”

  “Good. You know the address. Please come as soon as you can, we have things to discuss.”

  “I will be there within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Kaylin.”

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, Thomas Lu hung up his phone. He was smiling. He had a plan. He would use the woman’s insatiable appetite to his own advantage. He had no interest in the female of the species in any sexual manner. However, to use her and her eager body to help him achieve his ends, that was another matter. He would arrange it so that she had every partner she could handle and more, including the chairman of the Intella syndicate, Morris Boon Meng. Lu well knew that Meng, on the surface at least, was a long-married, straight-laced pillar of the community. Behind the façade, however, Lu had proof that the chairman had a soft spot or, Lu chuckled, a hard rod for a particular type of woman. That woman was epitomised by Kaylin, who would enjoy playing totally uninhibited sex games with other women and any number of men while he watched and eventually joined in.

  The young policewoman and I had parted company as co-conspirators and almost friends. To sweeten the pot, I gave her a hundred dollars and told her to buy a new bed cover. She had made coffee for us and told me what little she actually knew about Thomas Lu. It was apparent that she had no idea of the extent of his villainy. She had just been asked, through another cop, if she were interested in doing a little moonlighting, basically as a private eye for a wealthy businessman. Always in need of extra cash, she had agreed, and until this very day she had done nothing that could even be remotely termed as illegal, other than accepting cash for trailing people and reporting back to Lu or his people.